


Overwhelmed

by brookebond



Series: Inceptiversary 2017 [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mild Angst, Pining, The start of something, arthur can feel everything, eames can't control himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 16:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11444766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookebond/pseuds/brookebond
Summary: The 5 times Eames touched Arthur and the 1 time Arthur touched Eames.





	Overwhelmed

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted for inceptiversary 2017 by imestelomel  
> The prompt was: An AU where Arthur can feel emotions when he touches people and Eames gets off on the wrong foot with him because he's so physically affectionate.
> 
> This was meant to be a small prompt but kind of morphed into a _thing_.  
>  I hope you enjoy it all the same!
> 
> Unbeta'd but I did my best to edit so I apologise if there are any mistakes!

**1.**

From the moment Eames met Arthur, he was infatuated.

Arthur was cool, closed off, and wrapped up like a present Eames desperately needed to open on Christmas morning.

He was the exact kind of challenge Eames loved.

Over the course of the job, it became obvious that Arthur wasn’t like the others Eames had chased. Arthur was more cautious about his words, he clearly chose everything with a careful deliberation Eames had never considered before and that was utterly thrilling. Eames had never thought that he might have some sort of competency kink before but it was turning out that he might not mind if he did.

“We need a second exit strategy. One isn’t enough.” Arthur had been trying to explain his reasoning for the better part of the last half hour and while Eames had been listening intently, the rest of the team looked as though they would rather be anywhere else.

Eames couldn’t understand that.

Arthur was talking.

Eames knew he would willingly listen to Arthur reading the phone book. His voice was the most amazing thing Eames had ever heard and if none of the others wanted to listen, Eames would happily take one for the team.

“What would you suggest, darling?” Eames asked, hoping to entice Arthur into a conversation.

“Here,” he said, tapping a room the architect had so far not bothered to detail. “If it was another office, we could have somewhere to rendezvous on this floor. Otherwise we’ve got nothing.”

Eames couldn’t find a fault in that. They did need somewhere on the second floor and had a hard time believing Sheila was as competent an architect as she was making herself out to be.

“I can’t add anything else to this build. We’re pushing it as is,” Sheila complained, her nasal voice grating against Eames’ ears more than her insubordinate words were.

“You brought me onto this job for my skills, now you don’t want to listen to me? Fine,” Arthur huffed without managing to sound petulant. “I’m out of the job, then.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be hasty.” Eames shifted, reaching out to grab Arthur’s arm. “We can still sort this out, figure out a compromise, yeah?”

Arthur froze, eyes dropping to where Eames held onto him. Arthur’s skin was warm beneath Eames’ fingers, tempting him to step closer and do something wildly inappropriate.

“No,” Arthur choked, his impressive composure gone. “I’m done.” He pulled his arm free and stalked out of the room, leaving Eames and the rest of the team to sort of the clusterfuck of a job by themselves.

 

 

**2.**

Eames particularly enjoyed watching Arthur. The man was a fascinating conundrum Eames wanted to figure out. Eames wanted to know why Arthur tapped a pen against his lip when he was deep in thought. Eames wanted to know why Arthur fought the urge to drag his fingers through his hair. Eames wanted to know why Arthur insisted on wearing several layers even though he would inevitably strip them off as they day wore on.

All in all, Eames wanted to know everything about Arthur.

“You haven’t heard a single word I’ve just said, have you?” Arthur asked, his face belying the annoyed tone.

“You were detailing your marvellous plan, darling.”

The look of shock that passed over Arthur’s face was amazing and Eames wished he had discovered that expression on their first job together.

“Good guess,” Arthur huffed.

“I never guess,” Eames said with a smirk.

“You might be able to fool others, but you can’t fool me, Mr Eames.”

Eames leaned forward, fingers brushing against Arthur’s. “Why don’t we go somewhere and test your theory?”

Arthur jerked his hand away, rubbing his fingers roughly as though he was trying to scrub Eames’ touch away. “No,” he murmured breathlessly. “We have a job to do.”

Eames leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. That was an unexpected response. “Of course, darling. Maybe after.”

“Maybe after,” Arthur parroted.

 

 

**3.**

Whenever they worked together, Eames found ways to touch Arthur. The brushes were never overt, Eames had more tact than that, but he had a theory to test.

After the second job they worked together, Eames spent hours thinking about the way Arthur had pulled away from him. He’d tried to dissect the way Arthur rubbed at the spot Eames had touched, tried to figure out _why_ Arthur could have done it. There were a million options but Eames could only see one logical answer: Arthur was uncomfortable with being touched.

He just had to prove the theory.

Eames took every job that came his way, the only stipulation he made was that Arthur was on the team. He didn’t care if he looked like a stalker, there were worse things he’d been called. As long as Arthur never used that word, Eames figured he was in the clear.

“Do I have something on my face?” Arthur asked, wiping at the corner of his mouth.

Eames’ fingers twitched, barely resisting the urge to join those gorgeously long fingers. “I was just wondering…”

“No.” Arthur shook his head. “When you wonder things, people get hurt.”

“Oi, that is a blatant lie,” Eames bristled. He hadn’t gotten anyone hurt since the Tokyo job and that wasn’t even his fault. He had told Benji to not go through with eating an entire spoonful of wasabi.

“I never lie, Mr Eames.” Arthur shot him a look, daring Eames to contradict him.

“Is that so?” Eames challenged.

There was something brewing between them, he could feel it, but Eames had no idea what _it_ was. He wondered if he could push Arthur far enough to make Arthur touch him. Maybe that was all he needed to do; turn the tables so Arthur had the power.

“I have never once lied to you.”

“Ah, correcting yourself. I do believe you’ve lied at least once in the last ten seconds,” Eames cheerfully pointed out, taking far too much pleasure in the way Arthur narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips at Eames’ words.

“You are an actual child,” Arthur sighed.

Eames smiled. “Now that’s a new one. A fetish you’ve never mentioned, darling?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone has their thing,” Eames chuckled.

“I will find a way to murder you, Mr Eames. You have my word.”

Eames leaned toward Arthur, close enough to feel the warmth from the other man but not to touch. “You’d miss me too much.”

Arthur stepped back, forcing a gap between them that Eames fought not to close. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Banging silenced them both, turning their playful fun into a tense moment.

Eames spun, pressing back against Arthur as if he could physically shield him from whatever was coming for them. He felt Arthur stiffen behind him, was aware of the way he tried to free himself from Eames’ body but Eames didn’t let up. The banging was getting louder and, in his head, Eames had developed an odd role of Arthur’s protector.

“Eames,” Arthur breathed.

“Hmm?”

“Please move.”

There was something about the tone of Arthur’s voice that made Eames move. He almost sounded pained and Eames couldn’t understand why. Eames’ own heart was pounding furiously against his chest, worry filling him, but Arthur—other than looking as though he’d been stabbed—seemed perfectly fine.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Arthur bit out, keeping his face turned away from Eames.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

“Arthur—”

“Don’t, Mr Eames. We don’t have time for whatever you want to turn this into.” Arthur straightened, taking on the air of the stern point man that hadn’t been there a second ago. “This job is a bust. Get out of town and I’ll get in touch in five days.”

Eames watched as Arthur strode out of the warehouse, leaving everything behind.

 

 

**4.**

Eames was going to make sure that every job he did with Arthur was based out of a hotel room. It was so much nicer than working from a dusty warehouse that hadn’t seen the light of day in years. Hotel rooms had beds and minibars and working showers.

Eames was in heaven.

“Darling, you’re spoiling me,” Eames murmured. He was pretty sure he was falling asleep but nothing about the job they were on was particularly pressing so he figured he was allowed to catch a few minutes of shut-eye.

“This had nothing to do with you,” Arthur muttered, voice barely audible over the annoying clicks of his laptop keys.

Eames rolled onto his side and cracked open an eye to look at Arthur.

He was in profile. His hair was beginning to come free from it’s perfectly gelled style and was curling deliciously around the shell of Arthur’s ear. He had rolled his sleeves up half an hour ago—a sight Eames was thoroughly enjoying—and he had even loosened his tie.

Eames had never seen Arthur in such a state of disarray and he had no idea how to deal with the desire curling low in his belly.

“Is there actually a job here or have you just lured me to Paris under false pretences?”

“You do like to think highly of yourself, don’t you, Mr Eames.”

“Who doesn’t,” Eames said wistfully, flopping onto his back.

The bed was the most comfortable thing he had slept on in months and it was incredibly difficult to keep his eyes open, even with Arthur tapping away on his laptop. Eames had been country hopping for the last two weeks, constantly on alert, and now that he knew he was under the careful watch of the best point man in the business, Eames was falling asleep.

“Eames.”

He rolled over, ignoring the feeling that he shouldn’t have been turning his back on something.

“Eames.”

He burrowed into the pillows, fingers twitching for a gun that wasn’t there.

“Eames.”

Someone reached out and Eames moved, gripping firm forearms tightly and pulling them onto the bed so he could pin the person beneath him.

“What do you—” he froze as his mind caught up with his body.

Arthur was beneath him, panting, his eyes glazed over.

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, letting go of Arthur and climbing off the bed as fast as he could. “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay—”

“No, it isn’t. I should have mentioned…” Eames waved a hand, vaguely encompassing what he wouldn’t voice.

“Eames, it’s fine. Let’s get back to work.”

Eames nodded. Work sounded like just the thing he needed to slow his heart down. “I’ll do some surveillance,” he muttered, leaving the hotel room before Arthur could stop him.

 

 

**5.**

When everything else failed him, Eames went back to what he knew: flirting. It worked well and everyone fell over themselves to help him whenever he turned the charm on. Well, everyone except for Arthur.

It seemed that the more Eames tried to win Arthur over, the more he withdrew. It was utterly frustrating and Eames had no idea how to fix it.

They’d managed to work several more jobs together successfully. Each of them had gone swimmingly compared to the first few they’d done. But Arthur also seemed more withdrawn. He blatantly avoided touching Eames or being close to Eames and Eames could stop the hurt that washed over him every single time Arthur pulled away.

“What harm is one drink going to do, hmm?” Eames asked. He’d been trying to persuade Arthur to have a drink with him for the last twenty minutes.

“I highly doubt one drink would be just that with you, Mr Eames,” Arthur sighed. “Besides, we actually have work to do. In case you forgot.”

“‘Course not. But it’s three in the morning, darling. Live a little.” Eames wiggled his glass at Arthur, sloshing the amber liquid around. “One drink and then I’ll leave you to whatever point man type things it is you think you should be doing right now.”

Arthur glanced over his laptop at Eames, his lips twitching and Eames knew he had won. “One drink,” Arthur warned. “Then you’re off to bed.”

“Only if you promise to tuck me in,” Eames smirked.

Arthur sighed heavily, as though Eames being himself was the biggest pain in the arse, but Eames could see the small smile on his lips. That was more than enough for Eames to play along with whatever Arthur wanted.

“So, what’ll you have then? Scotch? Whiskey? Vodka? Tequila? They might have one of those tiny Jägermeister bottles if that’s more your pace.” Eames ducked over to the minibar, rattling through the list of things without actually pulling anything out. “Anything taking your fancy?”

“Scotch.”

Eames grabbed the tiny bottle and a glass. He poured the drink out—determined to be gentlemanly—and took it over to Arthur. “Your drink, darling.” He placed the glass down gently and settled into the chair next to Arthur. “Shall we play a game?”

Arthur shot Eames a look, scoffing lightly as he pulled the glass to him. “That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

“What do you suggest then?” Eames asked, leaning back in the chair and spreading his legs.

Arthur’s eyes tracked the movement, confidence blooming in Eames’ chest with the action. “How about you tell me something.”

“Like what, hmm?”

“What’s your favourite season?”

That wasn’t what Eames had expected. Well, Eames wasn’t sure what he had thought Arthur would want to know but if he was offered the chance to ask Arthur any question in the world, he was certain it wouldn’t be as tame as the weather.

“Summer,” Eames said without a second thought. “I love the heat, the way you can feel its presence surrounding you. The long nights, cold drinks, dancing the night away at some beach bar. The way it seeps into you, relaxes you, makes things seem… less...” Eames sighed softly, wondering just how quickly they could end the job so he could chase summer down in some other country. Paris winter was bitter and left him aching for warmer weather. “My fondest memories have happened in summer,” he said with a rueful smile. “If I could follow them into eternity, I would. Eternal summer...” Eames cleared his throat, dragging a hand over his hair. Embarrassment clung to him.

He had shared too much.

“Summer,” Arthur repeated, a strange look settling over his face. “I could see that.”

“The lack of clothing adds to the allure, as well,” he said, trying to get himself back on even ground. Charm and suggestive flirting was what Eames did best. Honesty only ever got him hurt.

“That sounds more like you.”

“I am nothing if not predictable,” Eames agreed, scooting forward slightly so he was on the edge of his seat.

“You most definitely are _not_ predictable, Mr Eames,” Arthur lamented, eyes following Eames as he moved.

“That sounds like a challenge, darling.”

Arthur chuckled and took a sip of his drink, leaning back in his chair.

Eames loved seeing Arthur loosen up. In all the jobs they’d done together, Eames had never had that luxury before and he wondered if it was a one-time-only thing or if there was a way he could keep Arthur like that forever.

“Do you ever dream of doing anything else?” Arthur asked after another sip of scotch.

“I’ve dreamed about doing everything,” Eames answered honestly. “But I’m not much good at anything else.”

“There must be something,” Arthur prompted.

Apparently he wasn’t going to let it go.

“What do you dream of doing?” Eames asked, trying to turn the tables so he could stop feeling so exposed for five bloody minutes.

“Ah, I don’t think so, we don’t know each other that well.”

“But you asked first. Fair’s fair, darling.”

“You were in a sharing mood,” Arthur said with a shrug. “Thought I’d try my luck.”

Eames chuckled. He couldn’t find a fault with Arthur’s logic, even if he wished he could. He also wished he could redact a few earlier statements since Arthur clearly thought he was an easy target.

“Going to finish that?” Eames asked in an attempt to change the subject.

Arthur smiled over his glass before downing the remainder of the drink.

Eames watched him swallow, fascinated with the way Arthur’s tongue ran over his lower lip, licking up any traces of scotch.

“Arthur,” Eames croaked, reaching out a hand and grabbing the glass as Arthur placed it down.

Their fingers brushed, sending small sparks up Eames’ arm and he wanted more. But Arthur pulled away, faster than Eames had imagined he was.

“One drink,” he muttered and picked up his laptop, taking it over to the couch. “I have work to do. You should sleep.”

Eames sighed, aching to grab Arthur and touch him everywhere. “Goodnight, darling.”

 

 

**+1.**

After their last job, Eames hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Arthur. He wanted to delve deeper into why Arthur shied away from his touch. He wanted to know if it was him personally or if no one else was allowed to touch Arthur. That thought stuck with him longer, jealousy slithering into his mind at the thought of anyone else touching Arthur.

He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t the reasoning behind taking the current job, but Eames knew the truth, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he muttered, clutching at his side as he turned another corner. The gun in his hand shaking a little.

Shock.

Eames knew his body was reacting to the bullet wound, but he didn’t have the time to succumb. He had to get the hell out of there as fast as he could. Once Beirut was in his dust, then he would give in to the ache that was making itself known.

“Eames,” a voice called, barely audible over the rumble of an engine.

He levelled the gun at the window, ready to take out whoever had found him but his eyes landed on Arthur and he sagged against the wall. Relief washed over him for a brief moment before he realised what it meant. Arthur hadn’t skipped the country when he was meant to.

“Get in, you idiot,” Arthur huffed, opening the passenger door for Eames.

Eames moved faster than he thought possible with an open wound in his side and before he’d got the door shut, Arthur was leaving Beirut in the rearview mirror.

“Aren’t you going a little fast?” Eames asked weakly.

Arthur flicked a quick look over at him before setting his gaze firmly on the road. “Don’t worry about that. Stay awake.”

Eames tried hard, he really did but between the swaying of the vehicle and the loss of blood, he didn’t stand a chance.

*****

Eames wasn’t sure where he was.

The ceiling above him was speckled, making it look dirty. He was sure it was a design feature someone had thought was a brilliant idea but it just looked like someone had had a rather unfortunate toileting experience.

“You’re awake, good.”

Eames’ vision swam as he focused on the person hovering over him.

“I told you to stay awake in the car,” Arthur complained, pressing something cool and wet to Eames’ forehead.

“Tried,” he mumbled.

“Not particularly hard.”

“Oi,” Eames huffed through a laugh.

Arthur smiled softly down at him. “You had me worried there, Mr Eames. I thought I was going to have to find a new forger.”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you, darling.”

“I know,” Arthur replied. “You are so open with your emotions every time you touch me…”

Eames stared, Arthur’s words processing much slower than they should have. He was going to blame it on the blood loss. “You’re—”

“Yes.”

The way he said that one word was strained and Eames knew it was taking a lot for Arthur to admit this weakness. It explained so much, though. All the times Eames had touched him and Arthur had shied away—there was an explanation. Not that it made it any easier but now Eames knew to control himself. He wished Arthur had brought it up. Things could have been so much different between them if Eames had only known.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Would you want to admit a weakness like that?” Arthur frowned down at Eames. “You’d willingly let other people know that they could touch you and overwhelm you with a single thought?”

When it was put that way, Eames had to concede that he wouldn’t be willing to give anyone that kind of power over him. He wasn’t even sure he’d let a lover in if that were the case.

“Exactly,” Arthur sighed. “But you… you just don’t stop.”

“You never asked…” Eames supplied stupidly which got him a look from Arthur that reinforced that idea. “I couldn’t resist,” he amended. “There’s something about you, darling, and if I had known what was happening, I would have been better about it.”

Arthur nodded. “It was never bad, when you touched me. I’m just not used to it. You sent everything you felt through your touch. You never hide anything which is a pretty shit trait for a conman.” He shot a look at Eames which he could only shrug at.

Eames had always been told he was odd.

“I think I’d like to try something,” Arthur said quietly.

“Oh?”

“Stay very still,” Arthur warned as he lifted a hand, flexing his fingers before pressing the tips to Eames’ chin.

Eames stiffened, his breathing quickening at the gentle touch. Arthur had never touched him, in all the years they’d worked together, and he had no idea what to do.

“You don’t have to be so anxious,” Arthur whispered. “It’s okay.”

The permission was freeing and Eames sank backwards, letting Arthur do whatever it was he wanted to. He allowed his mind to wander, thinking back over the previous day and wondering where he would be if Arthur hadn’t turned up and rescued him. He shuddered at the thought; anything could have happened.

“Arthur,” Eames called softly, smiling when he got an affirmative hum in response. “Can I touch you?”

Arthur nodded pulling his hand away from Eames’ face.

Eames reached out, grabbing that hand and linking their fingers together. He tried to not grip too tightly but he didn’t want Arthur to run away.

Arthur smiled shyly and Eames pulled him down until their lips were a breath apart.

“Tell me if it gets too much, darling.”


End file.
